The Heat and the Cold
by CWprodigy
Summary: AU: In which George Huang has a genius level IQ and was an FBI superstar by 25 only for one bad case to make him retire. Three years later, bodies are piling up in NYC and an old friend turned something more asks for his help. George/Rafael.


…

It's been three years. He didn't want to call except he always did though he hung up before it got through. He never had a reason to. Now he has a reason.

In the heart of a New York winter, bodies are piling up. Found naked in the icy snow in local parks. Parents are spooked. The cops are nowhere. Yet the city still throbs in technicolor.

Rafael finds him one night, smoking a cigarette outside a gay bar in the Village. He's alone, smoke curling and mixing with condensation. He's unchanged enough for Barba to feel something inside him ache. His hair is longer, dusted with snow. He's wearing a pair of chinos, worn oxfords, a white button up, a burgundy tie and black overcoat. A forest green scarf wraps around his neck. A man approaches him, kisses his cheeks by way of greeting.

"George?" The attorney calls.

George smiles. Blows smoke into the air. The other man says something to the doctor, then retreats into the bar.

"I should have known."

Rafael approaches him until they're side by side. The good doctor's nose it red with cold. He stares off into the distance, at the streets, the weak snowfall. Throws his cigarettes away and lights another.

"I thought you quit," Rafael says. He's trying his best not to look at him, to convince himself it's for the case, for the victims, and it is, but not entirely.

"Addictions," Huang says, his voice low, amused, sharp. "The thing about them is, overtime you think they're finished with you. But they never are. Like some people."

"George…"

"What do you want Rafael?" Huang sighs. He sounds very tired.

Rafael gives him a quick sideways glance. Oh how he's missed him. This man who seems not as soft as he once was. _What he wants?_ He knows what he wants, knows very well, but they both seem to know he won't say.

"I'm sure you've seen the papers."

Huang nods. "And you want to use me for it. You know how many other guys do what I do? You don't need me for this case. But you already know that." A pause. Firetruck sirens sound a few blocks over. "So what is this really about?"

"It can't just be about the case?" Rafael asks, smiling despite himself. "It can't be because these women deserve justice? It can't be because you could make a difference?" He doesn't know why he's angry. Perhaps it's because George sees right through him in a way no one else can. He laughs, harshly. "No offense good doctor but I don't just fall off after one case too many. We can't all turn away because we had a bad day. We all can't just give up."

He knocks him against the cold wall, hard.

Rafael's forgotten that he's FBI, trained like all the rest. But George has him now, his hand on his chest, the other still holding the cigarette. He eyes are bright with hurt.

"Don't you dare touch me," He hisses and Rafael's hands drop to his sides, trembling. He wants to touch him, to feel his skin and hear his breath and laugh and sighs. "It's been years. It's been three years. No call. Not a thing and suddenly you turn up…" He stops, something in his eyes flashes. His voice is low with disbelief and cruelty. "Is this what you want? Me?" His lips graze against Barba's neck. He takes one last drag, lets the cigarette fall between them, and blows smoke shakily into the attorney's face. "You miss me?" he whispers.

"George…" It's too much, his hands and his eyes, his lips, his snowflake dusted lashes.

"You miss me?" He gets closer, until Barba can feel his heat and see his breath. "You want me?"

George raises his eyes to Rafael's. The attorney licks his lips.

"I came here to—"

"You came here for me," George cuts him off. "Isn't that true? For once in your life be honest with me Rafael. Do you want me?"

The seconds tick by. Cars horns sound, men and women walk by, sharing cigarettes and talking, walking dogs, plainclothes cops patrol the corners. Only they are silent and still with the weight of history and promises long broken.

"Yes."

And suddenly they're lips and hands and hot, hot breath. George is flung against the wall. His mouth ravaged, his hips seized. Oh God how he missed this man.

"George," Rafael says, his skin burning everywhere George touches him. "George I'm sorry. Please George," more kisses, his teeth sink into George's neck. The doctor pushes him away suddenly. And they stand there, two men in an alleyway, their harsh pants visible in the frigid air. Huang's lips are swollen and red, his eyes burn with unshed tears.

"I'll work your case," George says finally. "Pick me up in the morning. I'm sure you know where I live."

He disappears into the loud smoky bar, leaving Barba panting and confused, sad and angry. Angry because as always the doctor is right, he knows exactly where Huang lives. He walks up the street still wired and shaking, but no longer feeling the cold.

…

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